


Taut

by Clara_oswin_o



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-21
Updated: 2013-03-21
Packaged: 2017-12-05 23:58:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/729360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clara_oswin_o/pseuds/Clara_oswin_o
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock is obtuse and John is clueless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taut

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I have written (that isn't poetry) for a long time. What can I say? The boys inspire me! ;)

John stared out of the window. The view from the dingy Brighton B&B that was the best they could afford while chasing up a lead that the Yard thought was going nowhere was of grey sky, grey sea. Sherlock had been gone since before he woke. He had already had breakfast (a passable fry-up). There was nothing on the couple of channels the tiny TV could receive. Had he been given more than five minutes notice of the trip, he could at least have stuffed a book into his bag, as well as the fairly random assortment of clothes he had managed.

He lay back on the bed and tried to sort through the events of the last few days in his mind. To be honest, it was blurry. 

Sherlock burst through the door, damp, his hair clinging to the sides of his face. "Next train leaves in half an hour." 

"You done then? Tea?"

"Yes. Not here, on the way"

Sherlock swept out of the room, leaving John to scrape together his belongings and hope Sherlock had waited for him. Sherlock was quiet in the taxi, John let him be until they were sat on the train. 

"So, do you think LeStrade will take it seriously?" 

Sherlock sighed. "He will now. It was glaringly obvious as it is that he knew his killer."

John had found that it was best to let Sherlock assume that he was keeping up. Sherlock would often fill in the blanks if John could draw him out. 

"You solved it this morning then?"

"Banal. Vengeance is though. There was nothing intelligent about this murder. Admittedly, he did a good job of hiding the evidence, just good enough to fool LeStrade. Found it though, just took a couple of hours this morning."

"Where?"

"A club. I spoke to the cleaners this morning, they saw Miller leaving the club owner's office the morning after Robinson was murdered. I broke in, found Robinson's watch in the safe." Sherlock drew it out of the pocket of his coat. "Rolex. Oyster Perpetual. Matches the tan line on Robinson's wrist."

John is barely surprised these days. He remains impressed, but hides it as often as he can. Sherlock will be insufferable enough having proved Greg wrong. On the short taxi ride from London Bridge station to Scotland Yard, Sherlock can barely contain a smirk. By the time he has finished explaining to LeStrade, in graphic detail, exactly how wrong he was, John could practically see Sherlock vibrating.

"Cigarette!" Sherlock called to John as they passed Mrs Hudson in the hall of 221 Baker Street.

"He solved it then dear?" Mrs Hudson stopped John "Oh, it was a nasty one. You had a visitor last night, dressed up. Beautiful girl. She seemed to think you had a date..."

Mrs Hudson's sentence trailed off seeing the look on John's face. Resigned. 

"You could ring? I'm sure she would understand, urgent work, you know."

"Probably not worth it by now. Maybe if I rang her last night, but. Well, I forgot..."

John had forgotten she existed. Alison was beautiful, sweet and kind and she was not going to put up with being stood up twice in two weeks. 

"Cigarette!" 

"Coming. There aren't any in the living room though you know." Clattering from the next room along "Or the kitchen!" By the time John had turned the corner on the stairs, Sherlock had found the cigarettes hidden in John's un-worn Wellington boots. 

"Out Sherlock. You could at least smoke in your own room." 

"Mmm." Sherlock threw himself into the armchair by the side of John's bed and exhaled "Make the tea, would you John?"

John did, grumbling to himself as he boiled the kettle. He found milk that didn't look to be starting its own civilisation on the third try and added three sugars to Sherlock's. At least it was calories. 

Sherlock was pacing the narrow gap between John's bed and the door. He didn't seem himself, at least, not the intolerably smug version of himself that John was used to after a case. John passed over the tea, which Sherlock took without pausing and didn't drink.

"Problem? Sherlock. Problem?"

"John. The work. It isn't. It's not. Working."

"It's not working? In what way, I mean, I think I need more to go on than that." John ran his fingers through his hair and sat down on the bed to watch Sherlock pace. The pause lengthened, Sherlock striding the length of John's room clutching his mug, John watching from the bed and sipping his tea, forehead furrowed.

"It's. John, you're not. It isn't working out" the words came out in a rush.

John looked down, studying his tea. "It isn't?" as much as putting up with Sherlock drove him crazy, John was taken by surprise.

"No. Not that. You are an adequate flat mate." 

John had no idea where the conversation was headed. Not that it was unusual, but he was thrown by Sherlock's uncertainty. He looked up, Sherlock, still wearing his coat and scarf, stopped his pacing to stare blankly down before spinning on his heel and leaving the room. After a confused moment John followed, getting halfway across the living room before Sherlock's terse "No. Not now" sent him back to his room instead.

\---------------------

It was as though Sherlock were performing, John was convinced that he was in fact. The week after they returned from Brighton, Sherlock solved two or more cases a day, even taking on cases he usually considered beneath him. Neither of them mentioned the conversation in John's room. John thought about it often, trying unsuccessfully to put together the pieces from Sherlock's half sentences and evident disquiet.

Sherlock raced through his inbox so quickly, that by the weekend there was no mystery left un-solved. No missing rabbits, no probable affairs, nothing. 

On Saturday, John spent the day attempting to shop. Sherlock sent text messages every fifteen minutes with extra items, which John eventually decided to ignore. Sherlock could buy his own bleeding borax. He descended on the shopping bags as John walked through the door, pulling out nicotine patches, lemonade, a wooden spoon and a bunch of samphire before disappearing back into his room. 

Sherlock emerged two hours later looking dejected and flopped on to the sofa next to John who was reading. 

"Reading?"

"American Gods. It's good...he's a clever writer, keeps you thinking"

Sherlock bent over John and plucked the book from his fingers. He opened the sash window and threw it out into the rain, grabbed his coat and slammed his way out of their flat. John stared after him. 

\---------------------

 

"...and the marks on the dashboard are indicative of..."

Sherlock was talking to John while he wasn't in the room again. 

"You know, I would probably keep up better if you check wether I'm here or not before explaining things" John called, making his way from the bathroom to the kitchen, where he stuffed a biscuit into his mouth before heading towards his bedroom. 

"What?" John turned. Sherlock was watching him. John had realised a while ago that Sherlock Watching Me Again had acquired mental capitals. He assumed it was the unnerving wondering about what exactly Sherlock was deducing from his post-shower appearance that caused it. John strode into his bedroom and shut the door.

\--------------------

John woke with a start and spent a few moments fumbling for the snooze button on his alarm clock before realising that it was dark and that it wasn't the alarm which had woken him. Sherlock was perched on the footboard of his bed.

"What the fuck? Sherlock?" 

"I was watching you."

"Obviously."

"I have never watched you sleep before"

"Yes, but...forget it. Why are you watching me sleep?"

Sherlock stood, John got his leg caught in the bed clothes as he rose too. The night could hardly get any stranger he thought, than standing in the middle of my bed watching Sherlock watching me. 

After a long pause, Sherlock raised a hand as if to touch John's face.

"Oh"

"Obviously" Sherlock said wryly.

Completing the movement, Sherlock wrapped his hand around John's neck and pulled him into a kiss. John was too engrossed with the realisation to respond and stumbled on a bed spring, breaking the contact.

\------------------

Sherlock didn't mention the kiss, John couldn't figure out how to bring it up again.


End file.
